YAFF MUSE

YAFF Muse  is a blog series featuring some of the awesome writers who make up the best online critique ever–YA Fiction Fanatics. In this series, we post original short stories created from an image meant to inspire our Muse.

This month’s  pic is courtesy of Vanessa Barger.

When Vanessa posted this picture to our crit forum it made Kat Williamson from my wip,  Haunting of a Reluctant Princess, nag me to let her come out and play. Here’s a little blurb to help set the stage for this ficlet/slice of fictional life/whatever the heck it it is:

 Kat’s bookish boyfriend turns out to be European royalty and history isn’t all that comes with the antique ring he gives her. Is a ghostly princess dangerous or needing Kat’s help to solve her murder?

(At this point in time Kat and her boyfriend C.J. a/k/a His Serene Highness Christian Josef Maximilian Alexandre Fortier are spending their break from school in the European principality of Mont Forte)

* * *

 C.J.’s cell rang as we neared the old stables that had been converted into a garage. “Yes, I know but I was going to show Katrina—Yes, Madame, I understand my new responsibilities especially in light of current events. Yes, Madame. I’ll be there shortly.”

With a frown he shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I’ve always been fond of Madame Mutter, but I’m finally beginning to understand my Aunt’s claims that she oversteps her bounds.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. C.J.’s father’s secretary didn’t seem that bossy to me but then again I was used to my dad’s office manager who was a former drill sergeant. “I’m sure she wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t important.”

He breathed a quiet sigh, “You’re right. Father is adamant that I start taking a more upfront role in matters of state.” C.J. took hold of my hands. “I’ll try to move this meeting along as quickly as I can and then we’ll go on that tour.”

“I can go myself. I promise not to get lost or do any embarrassing touristy things.”

“I’ll have Anton go with you.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard. I don’t want one, and you can’t force one on me–at least not until the official engagement party happens and it’s becomes a matter of protocol.”

He laughed and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll give you a call when the meeting is done.  We can do a late lunch or early dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I took a few steps back and dipped into the lowest curtsey I could manage then tilted my head up. “Not bad, huh? I’m still wobbly  doing that in heels though.” I straightened. “I suppose Madame Mutter wouldn’t let me get away with wearing sneakers under my gown for that state dinner thing so I don’t lose my balance and embarrass us all.”

“You’ll be fine. And I promise the family isn’t as intimidating as rumor would have you believe.”

C.J. pulled me into a quick hug and kissed the top of my head. The feminist in me might have been cheezed off if he wasn’t so darn lovable.

His cell rang and I pulled away even though I didn’t want to. “You’d better get back inside.”

He smiled. And I hoped he never realized how that sweet but sexy smile alone could get me to do just about anything.

“Have fun and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything or if any reporters bother you.”

Ugh. Not the paparazzi again. At least this time I was properly dressed and not brandishing a butcher knife.

My phone rang and I checked the Caller ID It was Madame Mutter. I gave him a little shove. “Get going before I get a lecture about keeping you from your princely duties.”

He snapped to attention and gave me a courtly bow. “As you wish.” He grinned when he straightened and tossed me the keys to his cars.

Yeah, that’s right. Cars plural. Falling into a real life version of the Princess Diaries did have it’s fun moments and this was definitely one. Of course, being the paranoid dork I was, I just stood there in the cavernous garage that resembled a luxury car show-room thinking of the many possible disasters that might befall any of the ritzy cars on my watch.

And so, ignoring the amused stares of the garage attendants and the siren calls of the Maseratti, Porsche, and vintage red Corvette, I focused on the row of bikes off to the left side of the building. If I’d been dressed up I might have talked myself into a fancy car but, wearing Jeans and a sweater, I was much better off  taking the commoner approach to transportation for my sightseeing expedition.

And of course even the Fortier family’s bikes were top of the line titanium models, nothing at all like the basic Huffy 10-speed I’d grown up with. I hoped I didn’t wreck it. Squaring my shoulders, I approached the garage guys and told them my plan then asked them to see that C.J. got his car keys back.

“You’re sure you wouldn’t  prefer to drive?”

“I’m sure.” The guy’s expression said he knew I was faking it, but paranoia and images of the old photos of C.J.’s mom’s car crumpled at the base of the cliffs the castle rested on, stomped that wavering of my decision to bike it.

I walked the bike outside and stood a moment deciding which way to go down into town. I could go right and around to the modern front of the compound to take the main road down but it was the weekly visiting day and it seemed that world financial crisis be damned, a whole lot of people had decided to pay Mont Fort a visit. And, judging from the glimpse I’d had out the upstairs corridor window earlier, those who weren’t gambling were sightseeing at the castle. There might even be some incognito paparazzi types hanging around trying to get another embarrassing glimpse of “America’s Future Princess”.

The sensible thing to do was to take the less traveled path left and go out the original front of the castle complex—which was a long narrow drawbridge suspended over a gaping chasm.

Facing mythical paparazzi didn’t seem quite so bad.

But then my common sense kicked my butt and reminded me that C.J. and I had ridden on his motorcycle across that bridge yesterday. If it could withstand that it could withstand the weight of me a titanium framed bike.

Unless the cycle’s weight and vibrations had shaken loose the old wood and iron that held up the bridge.

I let out a miserable sigh and hung my head. What was wrong with me? It was like I’d become some timid mouse in the few days I’d been here. It made no sense. In school in London, I lived to be up close and personal with medieval history and architecture. While here I was as up close and personal as one could get with free access to go anywhere on the estate or historical section of the city below, and I was suddenly too afraid to do anything.

If I didn’t know better I’d think I was stuck in one of those weird chick-flick movie marathons I used to watch with my step-mom and sister—the creepy Gothic ones where the woman moves to a new place and becomes the victim of choice for spirits from the past who want to possess her to live their lives over again.

* * *

 The others participating this time are:

Vanessa Barger
Traci Kenworth
Rebekah Purdy

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